Pageant of Murder

“Girl? What girl?”

“I don’t know what girl, but she’s wearing very tight trousers and an Ascot hat.”

“Well, you’d better go and disentangle them. It can’t be anybody we’ve invited here. They wouldn’t dress like that.”

“I thought perhaps…”

The Boy Scouts, having hit upon several things to do with the Drunken Sailor, relaxed, and the Batty-Faudrey conversation lapsed until his lady poked the Colonel sharply in the ribs and waved a hand towards the woods. Colonel Batty-Faudrey shook his head, got up, announced firmly to the occupants of the dais that tea was now to be served in the long gallery, and the Boy Scouts struck up The Drummer and the Cook. The dais moved off with a leisurely dignity which disguised its relief at the prospect of a cup of tea and (with any luck) sandwiches, sausage rolls and small, rich cakes, and soon disappeared into the cool interior of the house.

“You miserable coward!” muttered Mrs Batty-Faudrey to her husband. “Just wait and see what I’ll say to Giles when he comes back! We don’t want another—well—incident. But you—you poltroon!”

She was obliged to break off in order to usher her guests upstairs to where, in the long gallery, small tables had been established and maids were in attendance. Half-way through the orgies young Mr Faudrey turned up with the trousered girl in tow, steered her to the vacant seats at the table where sat the Mayor and Mayoress and his uncle and aunt, and introduced her.

“This is Caroline Fisher, Mr Mayor, Madam Mayoress, Aunt and Uncle. Catherine Howard in this morning’s procession, don’t you know.”

“How amusing!” said the Mayoress, nervously. “Your head tucked underneath your arm, and everything!” (To Mr Perse’s fury, Councillor Topson had carried the day with regard to Anne Boleyn’s well-known eccentricity.)

“That wasn’t me. That was Angela Pettit. She didn’t really want to do it,” said Miss Fisher. “I mean, a girl wants a head on her shoulders, not underneath her arm, when she makes a public appearance, doesn’t she?” She giggled, aware of a hostile atmosphere.

“Jolly sporting of her, anyway,” said Mr Faudrey, pulling out a chair and pushing her on to the seat of it. “Don’t you think so, Aunt Elsie?” He met the hard challenge in his aunt’s steely eyes with an impudent smile. Mrs Batty- Faudrey did not reply. She invited the Mayoress to accept another cup of tea.

Laura had neither expected nor desired a seat on the dais, and Twigg, who, as Kitty’s husband, had been invited to join the V.I.P. contingent, had again elected to escort Laura instead. When the non-V.I.P. section of the spectators streamed off to the paddock for tea, directed thereto by a loudspeaker, he and Laura slunk away to the local park and recreation ground, where they threw at coconuts, played hoop-la, rode on the roundabout, went up in a swing-boat, ate candy-floss and ice-cream and Twigg came away hugging a large, repellent vase, while Laura held two coconuts and a small jar of boiled sweets. They parked the vase among some convenient bushes, gave the coconuts to some small boys, ate the boiled sweets and put the empty jar into a litter bin and then went off in search of tea.

They prowled along Brayne high street, found a lorry-drivers’ cafe, went in and had ham and eggs, very strong tea and some thick, new bread-and-butter.

“That feels better,” said Laura, when they emerged. “I thought the time was past when I would want ham and eggs at half-past five in the afternoon. Wonder how Kitty’s getting on?”

“Perhaps we’d better get back to Squire’s Acre and find out,” said Twigg. “I think I’ll get my car out of that parking space round by the stables before all the Councillors start revving up theirs. Then we can make a clean getaway as soon as Kitty is ready to go.”

Kitty was more than ready to go. They found her seated in the car reading the A.A. book.

“Well, you’re a nice couple, I must say,” she observed. “Where on earth have you been?”

“Studying local conditions,” her husband replied. “Terribly sorry, and all that, but we thought you’d find it a job to tear yourself away. We certainly didn’t expect you yet. How did you manage it?”

“I made the excuse of having to get everything ready for the evening entertainment. I bet it’ll need it, too,” said Kitty.

“How did the afternoon go off, do you think?” asked Laura, as Twigg drove out by the lodge gates.

“Well, it’s hard to say,” Kitty replied.

“The unrehearsed effects, you mean?”

“Yes. Of course, the spectators enjoyed themselves, I suppose.”

“Well, isn’t that the be-all and end-all of a public do?”

“In a way, I suppose it is. All the same, I have a feeling that it’s the last time Colonel Batty-Faudrey lends Squire’s Acre for the benefit of the borough.”

“The donkey sequence brought the house down, though.”

“Yes, Dog, I know it did, but, although the Batty clan carried it off quite well, I can’t feel that, with them, it was a popular item. I mean, it mucked up the dressage properly, didn’t it?”

“Think it was done by accident or by design?”

“Good heavens, Dog! Nobody would have the nerve to bait the Batty-Faudreys! They’re the uncrowned royalty of Brayne.”

“We don’t still live in the age of feudalism, you know.”

“All the same, you don’t (if you’ve got any sense) beard the lion in his den. Oh, no. That kid and his donkey—it was sheer accident, I’m sure. Talk about Sancho Panza!”

“Are you sure you feel all right?” asked Laura, solicitously. “I mean, you’re not suffering from the heat or